


Human

by Chickygirl



Series: 'Mione and Sev Moments [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:08:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21642694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chickygirl/pseuds/Chickygirl
Summary: "They act as if I can fix everything they break, or that is broken with the world. But once I'm the one to break something, they treat me as if I haven't been the one to heal them when they're bleeding on the floor. I'm only human."
Relationships: Hermione Granger & Severus Snape, Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Series: 'Mione and Sev Moments [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1560205
Comments: 2
Kudos: 50





	Human

It was all adrenaline, and light, and so fast she remembered only flashes. Greens and purples putting herright back into that situation theyhad ran headlong into in the Department of Mysteries.

_Bright teeth shone at me through black toned scruff, that deep, husky voice paired with beautiful grey eyes calling out, "Want to have some fun, pet?"_

The first down in a flash of silvery white, and screams. She could still hear those screams long after their endings, echoing with a female undertone that was vaguely familiar as her own from years ago that she still woke to a start many years later. But they are now his, and she couldn't help but feel the blood race even faster through her veins, pumping the adrenaline even faster through her steadily darkening heart. She didn't hate him for marking her from collarbone to hip with a star shaped scar, but even she could not withhold the physicality of the deep anger that showed within the curse she had chosen.

_Almost white hair tied back with a leather, and long lips that held a downward turn of surprise as he saw his brother fall screaming. Those pale lips turning into a hateful sneer, "You'll pay for that, you mudblood!"_

The second was down in a flash of his brother's purple curse she had researched carefully, making sure they would stay alive longer. He was the last to fall to her wand as the other men with tattoos on their left arms disapparated away, leaving the curly haired witch alone with two screaming men clawing at their chests to call for help. There would be no reprieve to the hurt they felt for a while to come, they certainly never gave those that fell at the end of their own wands that option. They would burn, and she would feel nothing but her heart beating within her chest. The heart each of them had tried their best to stop beating life into her lungs.

_Blood pumped through her ears, pulsing in her wrists, ankles, and neck, and in the juncture between her legs. She closed her eyes before sending a silvery blue otter to a secretly clouded house in northwestern London._

Little Hermione Granger was certainly not an angel after that. Not after allowing such emotions to rule her actions, and she neither disputed nor confirmed that fact.

All they saw was what she wanted them to see, the mask the girl had carefully crafted from years of the blood, sweat, and tears she had shed for her magical family.

"Dolohov died yesterday evening, and Yaxley is under stasis for the time being until the curse put upon him can be extracted from him without tearing him apart. If St. Mungos succeeds, he will be sent to Azkaban, but I fear he will not last that long." Dumbledore's eyes were absent of his characteristic twinkle as he told Hermione this from his position at head of the table, her at the other end away from all the others whose allusions of her purity had been shattered.

The mask that had been firmly affixed to her face since Remus, Moody, and Sirius had shown up to deliver the Death Eaters to the healers under Order observation shook just a little. But not enough for those who were supposedly her family to see.

"Is that all, Professor?" He nodded.

The Headmaster's expression mimicked the other adults' in the room perfectly, a mixture of pity at a soul so pure tainted so early, and disappointment at the girl's choices. As if it had ever been a choice once those she had killed turned their wands in hate towards those she loved, because she did still love them. Despite their condemnation, she loved them more than herself still. Her friends who sat at the other end of the table, several empty chairs sitting comfortably between them, gave her similar looks with hints of betrayal stemming from their black and white views of the world.

They looked at her as if they hadn't known her for the better part of a decade, they only saw the stranger with the breaking down mask they hadn't the ability to see coming undone. Hermione stood from the creaky wooden chair that sounded as if it couldn't hold her weight, walking calmly from the room as it came back to life at the sight of Dumbledore's nod.

None saw the black shadow attach itself to her as she disappeared around the corner, and none tried to hold out a hand to keep her from drowning within herself.

_She still loved them, oh so much._

Hermione found herself still in the library hours after the disbanding of the meeting, staring into the fire sipping firewhiskey, observed.

"Would you like some, Professor?" She conjured a glass and filled it halfway up, holding it in her right hand over the arm of the couch.

Long white fingers took it from her dainty ones, the man turning obsidian eyes to the tear tracks illuminated by the firelight. They sat in silence until both their glasses were empty. Hermione pulled her legs onto the couch to face him, wrapping her arms around them to prop her chin on her knees.

They stared at each other, "How do you _feel_?" His deep voice rumbled through her, making her eyes droop a bit lethargically.

"Calm," she said, being completely honest with the man she had watched for seven years sneer at anyone and anything.

"How do you feel?" He asked again, this time with a different connotation.

She turned her head away, feeling feverish as the heat finally starts to seep into her bones, "They act as if I can fix everything they break, or that is broken with the world. But once _I'm_ the one to break something, they treat me as if I haven't been the one to heal them when they're bleeding on the floor. I'm only human, but they look at me as if I am a monster for loving them."

"They've given you a god complex," he replied, watching as the flames changed her hair colors, "You have healed them so many times after they've been brought down, they believe you to be invincible. They love you in their own way."

She smiled mirthlessly, "Dolohov didn't seem to have any notion of that complex when he almost killed me for that damn prophecy. Who would dare attack a god, fearing their wrath?"

"How do you feel about killing him?"

She shrugged, "Life goes on, he's dead, I'm alive. If I hadn't have killed him, he'd have raped and killed me."

He poured them more firewhiskey, "Indeed."

They ended in a tangle of groping limbs, warm bellies full of burning whiskey, and a black unbuttoned frock coat.

"We're all human," he whispered into her ear as she lay atop him, his arms wrapped around her so much smaller waist.

"I think I'll end up breaking their hearts before they figure that out," she whispered on his lips before biting down.

Blood welled up between them, sliding down their chins.


End file.
